


Hope Is a Fragile Thing

by CrackingLamb



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Destruction, Disfigured Character, F/M, Future Fic, Modern Girl in Thedas, Post-Canon, Post-Veil, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrackingLamb/pseuds/CrackingLamb
Summary: The Dread Wolf rose.  It's another world.Beta'd by Iron_Angel.
Relationships: Fen'Harel (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 25





	1. Discussions Over Tea

**Author's Note:**

> 3/8/21
> 
> Elvish translations will be at the end. All Elvish courtesy of Fenxshiral's Project Elvhen unless otherwise stated.

_I have not aged. That alone is confounding. Solas could never make heads or tails of it, but then again, I didn't think he would. I came here from a different world, possibly even a whole other dimension. There's no telling what the Fade did to me when I was 'rewritten'. I only know that I no longer age. I'm sure if you cut out my heart, it would stop beating. If I drowned or fell off a cliff or went into the Hinterlands alone and fought a bear or any number of other terribly stupid ways to die, I would be dead. But old age no longer counts among the ways to achieve it._

_I foresee a lonely existence for myself. There will come a time when everyone I know will be dead and burned. Everyone but the Elvhen of my acquaintance. I suppose that is some comfort. They understand longevity and the variety of horrors inherent in it. But that's not a cheerful thought, not by any means. I will end up alone. It is, perhaps, better to accept that now and begin preparation for it, rather than pretend it will ever be any different. Hope is a fragile thing, and after all I have experienced here, I have little of it left. I will not waste it on that which I cannot change._

_~_ From the journal of Banal'ras Nydha, the Twice-Born

The letter, when it arrived, came by personal courier, which Nydha thought was a charming touch. Charming in that it invoked a sense of respect for her, for what she meant to the elves of Thedas and to _him_ in particular. But the thought was sarcastic as well, because of _course_ he would send someone in person to deliver a letter. Both to make sure she got it and because she was nearly positive before even seeing it that it was a delicately worded summons.

“On dhea,” she greeted the courier and his entourage. The longer she looked them over – all five of them, each in identical armor and wearing identical carefully blank expressions – the more she knew what the letter said.

The courier pushed back his hood and Nydha was shocked to see it was a face she knew. “On dhea, Mistress Nydha.”

“Abelas. You must have ridden hard to get here. I offer you guest-welcome. I have some fresh ram delivered just this morning.”

If he was surprised she'd recognized him, it didn't show. Then again, from what she remembered of him, very little did. He nodded once and dismounted from the gorgeous white hart he rode, and a simple gesture from him had the rest of the group dismounting as well.

Abelas smirked slightly. “I had heard a rumor that you had become one of the sky worshipers. I had not expected it to be so thorough. Shall I call you Thane Twice-born?”

“No. This is no hold and I command no folk. The legend mark granted to me by the Avvar is just another name, much like the one granted to me by... _him_.”

He cast a sideways glance at her, so reminiscent of the man he was here representing that she jolted for a heartbeat. But his eyes were gold, not stormy silver. And his face was thin lipped and tanned, not angular and freckled. Still, it made her remember who she was dealing with. Immortals in her garden, what would come next? The falling of the Veil?

Ahh, but that had already happened. Many years ago, in fact.

“A meal is not necessary,” he said, answering her initial question. “We have our own provisions.”

“Tea then?”

“Ma nuvenin. I will gladly join you. The others are merely here to...”

“To make sure I don't slit your throat and run off?”

From the corner of her eye she saw the guards stiffen at her words. As if she could kill Abelas. As if she _would_. It was ridiculous and they both knew it, even if his guards did not. They all appeared to be modern elves to her – admittedly untrained, but not inexperienced – eye. They carried themselves too stiffly in their armor, and their expressions didn't carry the patience and weight of ages the way his did.

Long years had passed, for all of them. She had always been an enigma to Thedas, and probably now a rather forgotten one, save the few ancient beings as displaced as she was. That was fine; she preferred it that way. Born on Earth, trapped in this world through a freak accident, now as ageless as they were without the magic to make it even worthwhile by whatever mechanics had brought her here in the first place. At least the elves had a nation to build. She had nothing.

She'd left the Inquisition after the Exalted Council, disappearing into the ether as surely as she had arrived through it. The Inquisitor, Martin Trevelyan, hadn't stopped her. They corresponded for a few years after that, simple things, never talking of the war with Tevinter and the Qunari, never speaking of the Dread Wolf and his plans. Martin knew her well enough to know she would oppose any plan to try and assassinate what amounted to a god. But that didn't mean she'd sided with the elves either.

Nydha brought herself back to the present as Abelas approached. “I am only a messenger.”

“I know. But you must admit, four armed guards for a single delivery is excessive.”

“It is a long way from Rosama'an.”

She gave him a sardonic look, not believing him for a second. “Fen'etunash.” He scowled at her profanity, but didn't comment on it. She held out her hand for his letter and he put it in her hand. She saw _his_ perfect, tidy handwriting on it and her heart squeezed. “Come inside while I read it, hahren,” she sighed. “I'll put the water on.”

She laid the letter down on her table and bustled around the small cottage, filling the kettle from a pump, hanging it on a hook in the hearth, reaching for a pair of heavy mugs and her tin of Orlesian tea and a sturdy pot to brew it in. There was something almost perverse in the idea of serving Abelas, General of Fen'Harel, human tea. It helped dispel the heavy feeling in her throat at the thought of the words she was about to read. She wasn't quite sure why she was putting them off. The sooner she read the letter, the sooner she could give her answer to Abelas and he and his guards would be on their way.

But that would also mean confronting things she'd locked away for nearly twenty years.

“Will you sit?” she asked as she got the tea things ready and prepared to sit down herself. She wouldn't stand on ceremony in her own house, no matter that her unlikely guest was a Sentinel and the closest thing she knew of to elven nobility these days.

Abelas pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it, his armor whispering around his limbs as he did. It was similar but lighter to the armor she remembered. It hugged his form and appeared to have few, if any, weaknesses. _The Elvhen always did know how to craft well_ , she mused. The kettle hissed and she carried it from the hearth to the earthenware pot to pour before setting it down on an iron trivet so it didn't burn the table. And then there was no more procrastinating to be had and she lifted Fen'Harel's letter and cracked the heavy wax seal.

_I will not pretend that this is easy, for me to write or for you to read. I ask no forgiveness for it. Nor will I plead for your understanding or, indeed, take much of your time._

_I wish to see you. It is a matter of great importance to the future I am building, and perhaps to your own. I ask only that you come to Rosama'an with this escort, that we may speak in person and in private._

_~ Fen'Harel_

Nydha set down the letter and looked at Abelas. The Sentinel regarded her placidly as she let her expression turn wary. “Why?”

“He requests your presence for his own reasons, Mistress Nydha. I cannot imagine they are nefarious.” He said it as if it was perfectly reasonable that she would go to the Elvhen city and see Solas again. As if nothing had changed, that the _world_ hadn't changed.

“He could have sent a request by raven. And 'request' implies that I can say no. Sending an armed escort makes it feel like more of a compulsion.”

“Not that I am aware of. Perhaps it is in regard to the knowledge you carry?”

“Then why didn't he just say so?”

“I cannot speak to Fen'Harel's reasons, Mistress Nydha.”

She sighed and knew she shouldn't take out her mood on Abelas. It wasn't his fault, after all. And even if he knew more than he was letting on, which was likely, it would be unfair of her to poke at him for it. Nobody liked being put in the middle of someone else's troubles.

She had drunk from the Well. Not Martin or Morrigan. Neither of them were elf blooded, and honestly, neither was she. But her circumstances were unique. Knowing that the humble apostate advisor to the Inquisitor was really an ancient Elvhen demigod carried that sort of leverage. Solas had gotten Abelas to agree to let her drink, and then later, she was the one who had invoked Mythal's help. She was the one who had tamed a dragon to fight on Martin's behalf when they took down Corypheus. She was the one who knew when Solas had absorbed Mythal into himself.

She poured the tea and handed Abelas a mug and a spoon. Then she sat and thought, watching as he poured a bit of milk and scooped a single, spare spoonful of sugar into it. It was...mundane. Normal. She sipped hers black, needing the acidity to coat her tongue so she knew she hadn't lost her mind entirely.

“ _Can_ I say no?”

“Of course.”

“Should I?”

Abelas regarded her with his calm golden stare. “It is an invitation made in good faith.”

She snorted. “Ah, yes, an _invitation_. What makes him think I want to see him again? What makes any of you think I will choose sides now? What's in it for me, hahren?”

“Whatever you decide.”

Nydha snorted into her mug. “Has the mighty Fen'Harel figured out how to send me home, then?”

He looked remorseful and his gaze slid away from hers. “Ir abelas.”

Nydha sighed again, this time with exasperation. Mostly aimed at herself. “Tel'abelas. It's not your fault I'm stuck here.”

“I understand what it is to lose your home and everything you know.”

He was right. And she felt duly put in her place at the reminder. “That's true.”

Her cottage was snug and tidy and held all the things she'd felt like saving in her long years here. Her bow was hung up over the door, her armor packed away in a trunk. She had a shelf lined with books collected from all corners of Thedas. She had a carved ivory statuette of a halla, as well as one of a lion. A dragon carved from some smooth green stone. She had dwarven plates, Dalish woven rugs, Orlesian quilts and Fereldan furs for the winter nights.

Her furniture, and the cottage itself, were of sturdy Avvar make. She grew her own food, hunted for meat, traded with the nearest clan-hold in spring and autumn. She was known well enough by them that they'd given her a name, and she was welcome among them when life on her own was too lonely. The human who spoke perfect Elvish, communed easily with spirits and had the ear of the Dread Wolf. For all the good it did her when she hadn't spoken to him in twenty years.

And now he wanted to see her. Two decades of silence, ended. If she was brutally honest with herself, she was curious. What could there possibly be left to say to each other? It seemed there was only one way to find out.

“All right, Abelas. Let me pack, and I'll go to Rosama'an.”

“Ma nuvenin, Mistress Nydha.”

\---

Banal'ras Nydha - the Shadow of Night

On dhea - good morning

Rosama'an – The Place That Will Rise/Endure

Fen'etunash – wolf shit

Ir abelas - I am sorry

Tel'abelas - do not be sorry

Ma nuvenin - as you say


	2. Where the Sky Fell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3/11/21

_I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, my friend, but I beg you to return. This world is your home now, whether you like it or not. I would see you safe in it, rather than living out countless years in some backwater corner of Ferelden like an Avvar heathen savage. Or a bog witch._

_I worry for you. As your friend, as your former commander. I worry for you_. _Please, come back to Val Royeaux_.

_Martin_

_The Avvar have made me welcome and give me peace when I ask for it. The rest of this world has not. I am staying here in the Basin_. _Just the evidence of your Andrastian led bias against the Avvar is enough to tell me how unhappy I'd be in Orlais. Would you still dare to call an elf a knife-ear? The prejudice and bigotry of this world is shameful, and now it's ruing it. I want no part of it. Forgive me, but no. I will stay where I am happy and accepted._

_Nydha Twice-Born_

_~_ Letters between Inquisitor Trevelyan and Nydha

Thedas looked very different than it had years ago. The Qunari had destroyed much of Tevinter and when they had finally been pushed back to Par Vollen, what was left of the once mighty Imperium fell to the Dread Wolf's forces. Officially, the Tevinter Imperium no longer existed. All that remained of the formerly proud empire was the High Reaches peninsula, jutting out between the Colean and Nocen Seas. It was held by a strict treaty with Rosama'an. There was no slavery of elves, and no Magisterium. Dorian had survived and served as what passed for Archon in Minrathous. But it was a mere shadow of the great power it had once been. Even the Southern Chantry had shrunk to something more like an offshoot of Andrastianism rather than its own religion.

Antiva, Nevarra and the Free Marches had consolidated against the Qunari, leaving Rivain to fend for itself. The Qun had gained a new foothold there and today there were just as many viddathari as there were Rivaini. In the South, Orlais had splintered after the death of Celene, who never married and therefore never had an heir of her own blood. The disparate branches of the Valmonts were engaged in another civil war, and this one so far had succeeded in carving the mighty nation into pieces with no Inquisition to stop it. Ferelden stayed out of it, supporting no one and keeping their borders garrisoned against any possible incursions.

Deep in the Frostback Basin Nydha had lived simply among the Avvar, left alone and in peace for the most part. Because of her ties to the Inquisition, she had guest-welcome from Stone-Bear Hold, and through them, alliances with several other holds. The spirits that dwelled among them had given her the legend mark of Twice-Born, due to her life in her own world, and her rebirth through the Fade. It was a good life, all things considered. When the Veil dropped, the spirits had stayed and transitioned 'their' clan-holds to the new world. Nydha knew it had not been as peaceful elsewhere. Certainly it contributed to the civil war in Orlais and Tevinter's final surrender.

Not that any of that mattered for this journey she found herself on. She rode with Abelas on the giant hart, the guards in formation around them. The nearest Eluvian was in Skyhold, and it would be a grueling trip up into the mountains with few places to stop and rest.

She also knew that Skyhold was now a ruin, blown apart when Solas did his ritual there. From time to time there were rumors of plans to build something new there, some sort of memorial both to the Inquisition and to the spell Solas had wrought. They never amounted to much considering the difficulties in reaching the place. To date, only the Eluvian had been saved, moved into the Undercroft where it remained.

They rode, they camped. She and Abelas spoke rarely but it was always pleasant when they did. The guards spoke among themselves and not to her, but she hadn't expected them to.

Banal'ras Nydha. The Shadow of Night. It had been so long since anyone knew her by any other name she barely remembered her given name herself. Solas had called her that when they met, in the Fade. Where his mind wandered in the guise of a great wolf while his body slept in uthenera. Where she'd drawn darkness around her like a cloak to keep herself hidden from demons and ultimately piqued the interest of the Dread Wolf as something that should not have been.

The Fade had changed her, rewritten her. There were times she felt like Cole, a spirit made flesh. Not precisely magic, but capable of impossible things. It had served her well as a companion to Martin Trevelyan, considering she was also able to guide him with her foreknowledge. The perks of being a human from Earth, she used to joke.

She'd never given away all the secrets she knew, but she'd used enough of them to Martin's advantage that the defeat of Corypheus went off without a hitch in less than a year. He'd still lost his arm to the Anchor, that couldn't be helped, but he had known to expect it and to plan for it. He'd felt betrayed by her just as much as Solas when they both disappeared after the Exalted Council. He was angrier still when he learned that she'd known all along who the apostate elf was. But it wouldn't have changed anything for him to know, and eventually he saw that and their friendship was repaired.

Martin wouldn't be happy to know she was going to Rosama'an when she refused to move to either Ostwick – his home – or Val Royeaux, where the Inquisition still served Divine Victoria as a standing army against the factions vying for the Orlesian throne. But they had long come to the agreement that she was not his to command anymore, nor was she interested in trying to live in a war torn land that she hated anyway. She was less likely to be in danger of assassination under the aegis of Fen'Harel, and didn't that just feel ironic?

***

On the sixth day after leaving the Basin, the small party rode over the ridge that separated the valley and the pass that led to Skyhold. Nydha stared at the crumbling remains that had once been an impregnable fortress while Abelas kept the hart still so she could look. She hadn't expected it to affect her so. It had served the Inquisition well, and had been the closest thing to a home for her before her little cottage. Seeing the corner towers fallen, the battlement walls blown open, the keep broken like a cup...

Her heart squeezed in pain and tears pricked her eyes.

Impregnable it may have been, but destruction from within was a devastation no one could prepare for. _Only an ally can betray_ , she remembered Solas once saying to Martin. The evidence before her eyes bore that out. Fen'Harel had betrayed the Inquisition – from their perspective, of course – and the stronghold he'd given them had paid the price for it. Few who were not elven understood the truth of it. Skyhold had always been his, had always been marked for fate, again and again. The symbolism wasn't lost on her.

Behind her, Abelas clicked to the hart and they rode on without speaking of it. The long bridge was still intact and the steady clop of their mounts' hooves seemed too loud in the open space. She'd often wondered what sort of barrier was in place to make it that way. For certainly it had always been like this when she crossed the chasm of the valley below. She didn't have time to really ponder it as they rode through the open portcullises and into the courtyard. They dismounted, one by one, and the guards put blinders on their mounts since they would be leading them underground to where the Eluvian waited.

Nydha looked around, seeing the stairs that led to the keep shattered into a rubble filled hill, the splintered wreck of the stables. Runes and glyphs had been burned into the very stones all around, crumbled and powerless now, but she knew how to read them enough to know they had been place-markers for Solas's ritual spell. “How will we get inside?”

“There is a new entrance,” Abelas said, leading the hart deftly as it tossed its head at being suddenly blind.

“Is it safe to explore at all?”

He gave her an even look, then nodded. “Be wary inside the keep. There are holes in the floor.”

She clambered up the hill that used to be stairs and picked her way to the doors of the Great Hall, now hanging half rotted off their hinges. Whatever magic had kept Skyhold whole was gone, and weather and time had wreaked nearly as much damage as Solas's spell had. Inside she saw that the roof had caved in again. Chandeliers lay smashed on the flagstones, some fallen straight through the floor to the Undercroft below. There was a patchwork of remaining stones that could be crossed to the other side where Martin's throne once sat, where there had been a door leading to the War Room, and another leading to the high tower chambers where the inner circle of the Inquisition had lived. But that wasn't what she wanted to see.

She went to the rotunda instead.

There was no furniture left, nor any shelves of books or cages of ravens. Deep cracks ran through the walls, letting in daylight and wind and rain. Scattered leaves gathered in the curves of the squat tower and her steps echoed in the empty space. The mural remained, but it was broken.

A sound escaped her seeing the frescoes of Martin's time as Inquisitor in this condition. The plaster had peeled and fractured, littering the floor in pieces like so much crockery dashed to bits. Hardly anything could be seen of the glorious art that had once graced these walls. At the unfinished end there was even more damage. She knew that a demon had emerged from the pigment, destroying the sanctity of this space before Solas ever could. No sign of it remained, no smell of blood and dust and _regret_. Nydha sank to the floor and let her tears fall. It was all gone.

Abelas found her there. She didn't even know how long she'd sat and cried and mourned for what had been lost. She didn't know why it bothered her so much, to see what to many was the life's work of an artist depicting the tale of the Herald of Andraste fallen to ruin. It seemed representative of too many things, she supposed. Again the symbolism was beating on her. She wished she could escape it.

“Mistress Nydha, we should go before the light fails.”

She sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

“There is no need for apology. You spent time here, it was a home. It is fitting that you should grieve its loss. But there is a new mural, in Rosama'an.”

“There is?”

“Fen'Harel recreated this fresco in the Archive, so that it would never be forgotten.”

Nydha nearly laughed, or maybe it was a sob. Solas and his infernal sentimentality. She should have guessed. She got to her feet and dusted herself off and followed Abelas away from the shattered remains of her previous life.

They went down the hill to an open door that led deeper into the foundation of Skyhold. During the Inquisition, it had served as a prison. Now it was just the safest way to reach the Undercroft and the Eluvian that glowed brightly there. The mounts had their blinders removed and, as one, the guards got back in their saddles to await Abelas's sign. He lifted her onto the hart and walked by its side, leading the way into the mirror.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is loosely inspired by Azzandra's Through the Same Places, which I highly recommend. I'm not trying to tell the same story, of course, but credit where it's due, the formatting and idea of placing this story so far in the future of Thedas wouldn't have happened without theirs.
> 
> Feedback is, as ever, the lifeblood. Cheers!


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